


New Shiny

by unrestedjade



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Consent Issues, M/M, lockdown is a creepo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:56:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unrestedjade/pseuds/unrestedjade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lockdown has a nice day.  Ratchet does not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	New Shiny

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on my dash brought up Lockdown/Ratchet a while ago, and I could not get it out of my head until I’d written something. Why hadn’t this ship ever occurred to me before? So I spent a couple days on this, which is amazing both because it was supposed to be a drabble and also it’s not even long enough to justify that much time???? Two hours, maybe. I’m having so much trouble focusing lately, woe is me…
> 
> I can’t remember if Lockdown had his pirate hook on during this part of the episode, but it turned out to be a plot-relevant hook, so don’t correct me. ;) Or do, but I can’t take it out now. Just leave me to my ignorance. I haven’t seen the show in a while; hopefully they’re passably in character, at least…  
> This is also my first post on this account with:
> 
> WARNINGS: For Lockdown being a big fucking creepy fucker. No sex in this, or anything even remotely explicit, but consent issues like whoa. Also mention of organ theft; I don’t know what that squick is called. They’re robots, so it’s family-friendly organ theft, but still. Please steer clear if any of the above will ruin your good time, friends.

The falling gate nearly did the work for him, but the medic managed to roll clear of it in time.  If the bot had been a little smarter, he’d have aimed for the opposite side, left Lockdown to his quarry and escaped.  

“That was a neat trick, I gotta admit.”  Lockdown watched the medic scramble to his feet.  “Your aim needs some work, but hey, we all got room for improvement.”

Speaking of, he really wanted a closer look at that nifty gadget the medic had just used.

After a moment’s scuffle (and the Autobots really needed to work more with their noncombatants, poor things), Lockdown had the bot pinned with that interesting weapon pointed safely away.  

On the surface, far above, the sounds of the continuing shelling registered as a dull roar, easily ignored.  

The medic scrabbled ineffectually at the ground.  This was generally about the time the sobbing and begging for mercy started, but the Autobot surprised him again with a stream of curses so creative and expertly delivered that even Megatron himself would have to call it pure poetry.  A lot of the things Lockdown was being told to do seemed anatomically impossible, if not medically inadvisable, but he supposed a professional would know better than he did.

“Do you kiss your batch proto-initiator with that mouth?”

“Frag you!”

“Charming.”  …Except it actually kind of  _was_.  The medic seemed more embarrassed at getting his aft handed to him twice than he was scared for his life.  The bot could probably hold his own against the average Decepticon, but someone with Lockdown’s skill was way out of his league.  Not that he seemed to realize it; he looked fit to murder the bounty hunter if he could.  He couldn’t, but it was cute, how hard he was trying.

Lockdown turned his attention to the device on the medic’s arm.  “So, this is an electromagnetic pulse generator, right?  Never seen a frame-mounted one before.  Ain’t that a little dangerous?”

“Maybe for you.”  

Lockdown couldn’t have stifled his laughter if he’d tried.  Slagging adorable.  “I take it it’s hard to hit your target at very close range?”  Lockdown studied the generator.  The housing made it look like the pulse was pretty tightly directed even at its widest setting.  “The only reason you’re still conscious,” he added, when the medic failed to answer, “is because I’m curious about this thing.”  Well, maybe that wasn’t the only reason.  Usually the fun ended when the chase did, but this bot just got more entertaining.  Definitely mouthy.

He wasn’t bad-looking, either, once Lockdown tore himself away from the EMP generator long enough to look.  Not really anything special, of course– just one of the mass-production models, and Lockdown had always preferred two-wheelers, at any rate.  He wouldn’t kick this one off the berth, though.  

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are, scrapheap.”  The medic was still trying to get out from under him, redoubling his efforts.  He wasn’t a weakling, but Lockdown wasn’t letting him get any leverage against the ground.  All things considered, it was more amusing than annoying.  

And, hey, the wriggling was alright.

“Aw, don’t be like that.”  Lockdown grinned, gap-toothed and disarming.  “These are all the choice bits,” he said, gesturing at himself with his hook.  He wagered he was about thirty percent original components at this point, and every swap he’d made had been a trade up.  Waste not, want not, right?  “I expect that kind of squeamishness from the average bot…or are you just afraid I’m going to take your shiny?”  

He was, naturally.  The thing was basically a big ol’ “I Win” button.  Sure, it would take some of the thrill away, but more successful bounties meant more payouts.  This was a career, not a hobby.

Okay, it was kind of a hobby.  Do something you love, and never work a day in your life.  Lockdown considered himself one of the lucky few.  He got to travel the stars, meet interesting beings, maim them a little, and deliver what remained to his grateful clients, which generally led to an execution.  But hey, that part wasn’t any of his business.

The medic retracted the generator, as though Lockdown might try to tear it out right then and there.

“That’s no fun.  Don’t you want to try again?”  Lockdown lined the bot’s arm up with his head, peering down the length of the limb into cyan optics that simmered with anger.  “Or are you waiting for a capacitor bank to refill, or something?  That thing must draw a lot of power.”  

Plating shifted at the medic’s wrist, and Lockdown plunged his hook into the bot’s throat and  _pulled_ just as the whine of an electromagnet spinning up started.  “Ah, ah, ah,” Lockdown scolded.  “Put that away.”  

The magnetic manipulators folded away before they’d even fully deployed.  Having the main energon line to the processor yanked into the open was a very persuasive argument.  The medic’s arm hit the ground, trying to take some of his body weight off the line.

The weird squeezing sensation was already lifting from Lockdown’s head by the time he noticed it.  Damn, but that could have ended badly.  “You just don’t quit, do you?”  Lockdown hauled the medic up a little higher.  “But fighting you isn’t real interesting for me, you know?”

The bot’s response was a worried gurgle.  Lockdown’s hook was a simple prosthetic, but he could faintly feel the thump of the medic’s pulse as the line was pinched between gorget plates.  The medic glared up at him, but those optics were losing focus.  

“You’re cute and all, but make no mistake.”  Lockdown patted the medic’s cheek.  “You’re just a bonus– she’s the only one I need alive,” he said, nodding toward his target, who was still slumped unconscious against the wall.  “If you can’t play nice, I’m going to get unpleasant.”  He eased up on the energon line, but left his hook where it was.  This one needed a short leash, apparently.

“Gonna happen anyway,” the medic croaked, his energon-starved vocalizer crackling with static.  He scratched weakly at the hook, more out of protest than an earnest attempt to dislodge it.  One wrong move, and Lockdown could easily tear the line open.  

“Aw, babe, I’m not a  _monster_.  I only kill when I have to.”  Lockdown chuckled.  “Or when someone’s being really obnoxious.  Make a note of it.”  

“What’s the slagging hold-up, then?”

“Honestly?  At this point, I’m trying to decide if it’s worth dragging your heavy aft back to the ship, or if I just want the arm.”  The spy would be enough to carry; moving two bodies was a pain in the aft.  He gave the medic’s arm an experimental tug, ignoring the yelp it caused.  He could probably wrench the joint apart, but it wouldn’t be easy, and there was always the risk that he’d damage the generator.

He also wouldn’t get to play with his new friend anymore.  He cultivated a careful air of solitary menace, but he didn’t care to be alone all the time.  It was nice having company around now and then.  He tapped out a nonsense rhythm on the medic’s chestplates while he thought things over.  Vibrations from the bot’s engine traveled up his digits, a pleasant little buzz.  

“This is where most folks would start bargaining, by the way.”

The medic’s grip on the hook tightened.  “Get fragged, ‘Con.”

“You offering?”  Lockdown chose not to point out the conspicuously scratched-out brand on his chest.  Not that the mistake wasn’t irritating, but explaining the nuances of unaffiliated life would kill the mood.  He dragged his palm down the medic’s side, catching the tips of his digits against plating edges and gaps in the armor.  No, not his type, but he’d take what he could get.  

The medic spat at him.  

“Ha!”  Lockdown wiped his cheek off.  “Careful now,” he said, “or I might start to like that.  You gonna tell me I’m garbage next?  ‘Cause that might be kind of hot.”

Lockdown had him by the throat, literally, but the medic seemed to decide that bleeding out was now an acceptable risk.  The dents and scratches wouldn’t take much to fix, so Lockdown let the poor mech take some of his frustration out on his plating.  Most of the damage was to recent acquisitions that he hadn’t had a chance to repaint, anyway.

After a cycle or two, Lockdown hauled up on the energon line again.  That was enough.  “Relax, before you hurt yourself.”  He wrapped an arm around the medic’s waist to help support him.  “There’s no version of this where you win,” he said, cutting the slag for a moment.  “Make things easier on yourself.”

The servo the medic wasn’t using to prop himself up pressed into Lockdown’s chest, but he seemed to realize how disastrous pushing away would be.  

“Shh, shh.  It’s fine.  I’ve got you.”  Lockdown pulled the medic closer, eased up on the line just a little.  Stress and exhaustion were taking their toll, and that bravado was starting to crack around the edges.  And having someone in his arms, warm and shivering, was reminding Lockdown of how long he’d been flying solo.  Potential hummed like a taut bowstring.

A shell hit close by, showering them with fine dust.  The tunnels were far safer than the surface, but it would be wise not to hang around too long.

“Listen,” he purred, “don’t worry about her.  She was screwed the moment she took that hit.  Even if she woke up right now, she can’t save you.  Not to insult your work, of course.”  The medic had built a fully-articulated prosthetic leg out of junk.  Lockdown could respect that kind of resourcefulness.  

“And if your unit hasn’t found you by now, well…  Why don’t you do some work for me?  I can pay you,” he said.  “I’ll be a mech of means once I get my payment for this job.”  Lockdown looked at the intel officer, crumpled in a heap on the ground and missing a leg.  That stray shell had saved him a lot of effort and risk.  He hadn’t been the first hunter sent after her.  “Spies are complete fraggers, take it from me.  She’d leave you here if it meant she got away.  So frag her.”

Having a doctor on retainer was an idea he’d tossed around in the past, though he’d always assumed he’d be pulling from the Decepticon ranks.  An Autobot would suit just as well.  It would mean not having to do his own repairs or visiting expensive neutral clinics, and no more ruining the really tricky mods.  Why not?  It might be nice.  He could afford it.  What was the point of it all if you couldn’t treat yourself now and then?

“If you think I’m going to agree to help you carve up my own-”

The medic stopped short when Lockdown gave him a gentle peck on the lips.  The look of scandalized rage on his face was priceless.  

“Oh, I take contracts for the Autobots, too, don’t worry.  I’m an equal opportunity butcher.”  The Decepticons tended to pay better, but that went without saying.  “And when we’re sick of each other, you can just tell your comrades I was holding you captive.  Nobody has to know.”  That, or the Decepticons could buy a slightly used medic off him.  Hell, worst case scenario, he could always push him out the airlock.  Lockdown wasn’t seeing any downside to this.  “I got a nice ship,” he said.  “I got plenty of credits.  Let’s share a drink and talk it over.  I can give you the tour.”

The medic stared at him like he’d bolted on a second head.  “You must be  _insane_.”

“Don’t be ableist, babe.”  Lockdown rolled his optics in mock offense.  He got called a lot of things, by Autobots and Decepticons both.  Insane was pretty mild.  “C’mon, tell me what you think.  Under all that ‘my faction, right or wrong’ slag– what’s it going to be?”

“No.”

Lockdown pouted.  “Now, that’s not what I wanted to hear.  But fine,” he said. “Be stubborn.  I was just trying to be nice.”

The medic was visibly relieved when the hook finally slipped out from under his energon line.  He didn’t see the punch coming, not that it would have mattered.

Now, to pry the arm off, or not?  Lockdown certainly couldn’t carry both of them, and he  _had_  to take the spy.  Hmm.  He stood and dusted himself off, looked down at the bot at his feet.  Decisions, decisions.

While he pondered, he hefted the spy up onto his shoulders, arranging her like a fashionable stole.  She was light, if a little top heavy.  His servo around her ankle kept her in place well enough.  If she happened to wake up before he got back to the ship he was in for some excitement, but that generator seemed to pack a serious punch.  She could be out for megacycles more.  He was really looking forward to trying it out for himself.

…Come to think of it, carrying a severed arm would be a little annoying when his only servo was keeping the spy from sliding off his shoulders.  And she really wasn’t heavy…

Of course, if the bot wasn’t willing to play along, then bringing him aboard would be more trouble than it was worth.  But Lockdown had always had trouble letting go of something once he decided he wanted it.  

And there was always the airlock.

Lockdown looked from his hook to the tracks set into the medic’s lower legs.  Working the hook in under the track made for a decent improvised hitch.  He took a few steps.  The mech was by no means light, but that solid backplate slid along the ground with relative ease.  A worthwhile effort, Lockdown decided, and set off with his guests.  He whistled as he walked, the thudding of shells overhead growing fainter.  It had been a productive day.

And, hey, he even had a treat to look forward to.


End file.
